This Is How You Die: Stories of the Inscrutable, Infallible, Inescapable Machine of Death

by Неизвестный

  “Italy. Must be nice.” How casual Alex is about having so much spare cash lying around that they just go to Europe whenever they feel like it. Alex gives you a look.

  “After that, I don’t know. We might go to Vancouver to see my parents. Sam can work remotely, so as long as we’re back before school starts, we can go wherever we like.”

  You clench your fist. “So you’re taking him away from me.”

  “Just for a short—”

  “Thought you’d come and rub it in my face, right?” Your blood is boiling now. Your son is being kidnapped, whisked away on an airplane, never to be seen by you again.

  “Actually I—”

  You slam a fist down on the table, making Alex jump. Everyone in the coffee shop stops talking and stares. You don’t give a shit.

  “This is fucking typical, Alex,” you spit. “You have no right to take Henry away from me!”

  Alex stands up and moves away from the table.

  “I thought you might have changed. I hoped that some time on your own would make you realize what’s important. Instead I just get more of your crap! Well, guess what? Now I don’t have to take it. I can just walk away and never see your vile, hateful face ever again. I was considering letting you see Henry again when we come back from vacation, but I can see that would’ve been a huge mistake. Good-bye.”

  And then you are alone.

  Was Alex lying about intending to let you see Henry again? Did you just make a serious mistake?

  If you want to go after Alex and apologize, go to 16.

  If you just want to go home and get a real drink, go to 22.

  13

  You delete the message and go to bed. Usually you stay up later on the Internet, but tonight you’re not in the mood. Then you see Henry’s toy on the table. Maybe you should take it around to his house tomorrow morning. At least you can leave it on the doorstep with a note, even if you’re not allowed to see him. It can’t sit here in your apartment—it’s too depressing.

  You wake the next morning, have breakfast, and at nine thirty a.m. you pick up the toy and head down to the parking garage. You get in your crummy car, start the engine after a few tries, and drive out. You used to have a BMW, but you had to sell that as part of the settlement. Now you drive a fifteen-year-old domestic with a temperamental attitude.

  You pray the damn car won’t die on you on the side of the highway like it did last week. You were late for one of your anger management sessions, which won’t sit well with the judge at your appeal.

  It’s a fifteen-minute drive to your ex’s house. The neighborhood couldn’t be more different from where you’re living. The houses are huge and are spaced far apart. Beautifully kept grounds of at least half an acre per lot surround each immaculate oversized building.

  You park your very-out-of-place lemon outside number 23, next to an enormous Acura SUV. Alex’s Mercedes isn’t here.

  You ring the doorbell and, as expected, Sam answers, looking for all the world like the sexy new lover.

  “You? You’re not supposed to be here.” Sam’s tall. Sam’s sickeningly good-looking. You hate the fucker.

  “Can I see my son?” you ask, trying to remain civil.

  “You know what the judge said. Go away.”

  “I wanted to leave this for him.” You hand over the toy.

  “Fine, I’ll give it to him. Now go before Alex gets back.”

  “Where is the former light of my life?”

  “Meeting you at Starbucks, I thought.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, left you a message last night. You didn’t get it?”

  “Why does Alex want to see me?”

  “To tell you we’re leaving this afternoon, for Italy. We don’t know when we’ll be back. Could be a while. I said you guys didn’t need to meet up, leaving a message was enough, but Alex thought you should hear in person. I’d better call to say you’re not coming.”

  Sam closes the door on you.

  This is really bad news. You’re tempted to sneak around the back and see if there’s a window you can crawl through, but again, breaking into your ex’s house wouldn’t be the best way to win over the appeals judge.

  Reluctantly, you get back in your car and drive away.

  If you go home, go to 25.

  If you go to your local Starbucks to see if Alex is still there, go to 25.

  14

  You close all the blinds and make sure the front door is locked. The phone rings but you unplug it before the machine can pick up.

  While you run the bath, you go to the fridge and get some ice cream. Might as well enjoy something pleasant before you end it all. A spoon in your mouth and caramel ripple on your tongue, you eye the block of kitchen knives. It’s the tatty old one you took from the basement when you moved out of your house. Four of the slots are empty—Alex only let you take two knives.

  Out of your pocket comes the all-important piece of paper. “YOUR CHOICE,” it says. Maybe it doesn’t mean your death will come by a means of your choosing; maybe it means your death will come because you choose to die. The way you die doesn’t matter because it won’t happen unless you make the choice to go through with it.

  What if you choose to live? What then? If you never take your own life, will you live forever? Or will you just have chosen to die of natural causes?

  Anyway, it’s time. You put away the ice cream—though quite honestly nobody is going to care if you leave it melting on the counter. You pull out the sharper of the two knives and go to the bathroom. You take off your shirt and pants but leave on your underwear—you realize that for whatever reason, you don’t want to be found naked. It’s an odd thing to be worried about.

  Then you climb in. The warm water is comforting. It makes everything feel right. Being careful not to slice a finger off, you make incisions in both wrists and watch as the water around you starts to turn red. You drop the knife over the side and then lie back and try to stay calm. Maybe Alex will regret how badly you’ve been treated when your body is discovered. Your heart is beating harder now and you’re feeling light-headed. You wonder how long you will have to wait until anybody finds—

  The door bursts open. You’re dimly aware of being dragged out and somebody bandaging up your wrists.

  You pass out.

  Go to 20.

  15

  You hurry back to your apartment building and head down to the parking garage, intending to follow Alex back home so you can say good-bye to Henry before they head out to catch their flight.

  Go to 18.

  16

  You rush out of the coffee shop, hoping to catch up with Alex before it’s too late. The silver Mercedes is coming toward you on its way to the parking lot exit. You stand in front waving your arms, but it’s not slowing!

  At the last moment you leap out of the way as the car barrels past. Alex doesn’t even look back to make sure you’re all right. Instead the tires screech and the car skids out onto the road and speeds off.

  Someone approaches you to ask if you’re okay and you wave them away. To think you were about to apologize! You need to follow before you lose all chance of seeing Henry again. Alex will be going home to get Henry and Sam before heading out to the airport, and you should be there before they leave.

  Go to 22.

  17

  You descend in the elevator to the parking garage. You are still as mad as hell.

  You get in your crummy car that is nothing like the Beamer you used to drive before Alex screwed you good and proper.

  You remember to turn off the AC first, but in your frustrated state you forget to turn the key gently; otherwise—

  Dammit! Now the car won’t start at all. Fucking cheap piece of shit! You roar in frustration. Now you have to call out the mechanic yet again.

  By the time he arrives and fixes the problem, you are late.

  Go to 19.

  18

  You descend in the elevator to the parking garage.

  You
get in your crummy car that is nothing like the Beamer you used to drive before Alex screwed you good and proper.

  There’s so much on your mind, you forget that you have to make sure the AC is turned off before you start the car. The battery overloads and you’re left with a very heavy paperweight. Stupid cheap car. You roar in frustration. Now you have to call out the mechanic yet again.

  By the time he arrives and fixes the problem, you are late.

  Go to 19.

  19

  By now it is one in the afternoon. You start the car and carefully drive it out of the garage.

  Once you’re on the highway you put your foot down. If you’re lucky, you can still get to Alex’s house before they leave for the airport.

  When you arrive, Alex’s Mercedes is still there but the SUV is gone. Fearing the worst, you get out and ring the doorbell. There’s no answer. They’ve obviously left already.

  You get back in the car, starting it carefully, and drive toward the airport. On the highway you put your foot down, praying no cops are out catching speeders.

  By some miracle you see Sam’s Acura SUV doing the speed limit in the slow lane. Typical “responsible” Sam. You pull alongside. Alex sees you and tries to ignore you.

  Henry spots you too, from the backseat. His eyes light up, and you see him call out to you.

  You wave to him and pull the wheel back sharply as you realize you’ve drifted into their lane. The Acura swerves hard onto the shoulder, Sam clearly thinking you’re trying to ram them off the road. You try to indicate that it was a mistake, but both Sam and Alex are panicked. There is some tire debris on the shoulder and the Acura hits it hard. Before you realize what’s happening, the SUV slams into the guardrail and bounces back into the side of your car. The impact pushes you out into the next lane, causing a ripple effect. You have to move sharply to the right again, and you slam into the SUV. The car behind bumps them too, loses control, and collides with another vehicle. You slam on your brakes and so does Sam, but not before the SUV hits the guardrail again and spins around, coming to a halt.

  You stop your car, get out, and run to the SUV. Everyone is okay but shaken up. Sam is yelling obscenities at you. Alex is in shock. Henry is crying. You open the back door and unbuckle Henry’s seat belt and he jumps up into your arms. It feels so good to hold him again, like a missing piece of you has been returned.

  You can hear sirens.

  You remember the other car that rear-ended the Acura and crashed. Other drivers are helping the shaken driver out of her crippled minivan.

  “Why did you run us off the road?” Sam is screaming at you.

  “I didn’t! I swear it was an accident!”

  Sam storms forward and might even hit you, even though you’re carrying Henry. Instead your son is pulled from your arms.

  “Don’t stand in a live lane with the kid, moron!” Sam snaps, and then takes Henry away to the side of the road. It’s a good point. It annoys you that Sam is being the more responsible parent, and also interrupting your reunion with Henry. The kid is crying, calling out to you again and again.

  You reach out to Alex, but your hand is slapped away.

  “We shouldn’t stay here,” you say. But Alex can’t stop staring at the shattered SUV.

  And then you hear the screeching of air brakes and the grinding of metal. You look back toward the stricken minivan. The occupant and the other drivers are running in all directions. Suddenly the minivan is obliterated by an enormous eighteen-wheeler. The driver clearly didn’t stop in time and the big rig has jackknifed. It’s coming straight for you, sideways on. Sam is screaming at you to move. Alex is still frozen staring at the SUV. You don’t have any time left!

  Go to 26.

  20

  You wake up in your bed. You feel groggy and weak. Your wrists are bandaged. Your best friend, Robin, sits in the chair beside you, looking pissed.

  “You moron!”

  Your mouth is dry and your head swims when you try to turn it.

  “How did you know?” you rasp.

  Robin hands you water and you take a sip.

  “Come on, it wasn’t hard. You’ve just been through a bitch of a divorce, you just lost your kid, you unplugged your phone, you didn’t answer your door buzzer. Do I need to continue?”

  “Why aren’t I in the hospital?”

  “I didn’t drop out after two years of medical school for nothing. You lost some blood but you’ll be fine. Why did you do it?”

  “It seemed like the best way.”

  “It’s never the best way, you selfish idiot. What the hell were you thinking? What if Henry ever found out you killed yourself? He might even blame himself for the rest of his life. Do you want that?”

  Robin has a point.

  “I’m sorry,” you say. “I guess it’s a good thing I gave you a key.”

  “Yeah, and after the argument I just had I might need to crash here real soon. That’s why I came over.”

  The conversation turns lighter, and after a time Robin leaves you to rest. You’re very tired.

  Clearly you misinterpreted the piece of paper from the machine. You chose to die, you even went through with it, and yet fate interrupted and pulled you back. Perhaps you will choose to die, but not yet, and not by your own hand. Dammit, why did these machines have to be so maddeningly vague sometimes? Why couldn’t you just have got, “SUICIDE”? Or “YOU JUMP OFF THE BALCONY. DON’T MESS AROUND WITH THAT OTHER STUFF”?

  You fall asleep. When you wake up, Alex is standing next to the bed.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Robin had to go but didn’t want you to be alone, so here I am.”

  Alex takes a deep breath.

  “What you did was fucking stupid.”

  “It was the only thing I had left to take,” you say.

  “We’re flying to Italy this afternoon: Henry, Sam, and me. We’ll come back eventually, but we might sell the house and move somewhere else. I tried to call you last night because I felt guilty and thought you should see Henry again. Now I know you haven’t changed a bit. You’re unstable… batshit crazy… a bad influence. Good-bye.”

  Alex is gone, walking out on you again.

  This may be your last chance to see Henry.

  You have to move now.

  Head swimming, you climb out of bed and nearly collapse. Somehow you stay upright and make it out of the bedroom.

  You wish Robin was still here. You were hoping to avoid driving. You clutch on to the wall for support, wondering how you will be able to cope behind the wheel.

  Go to 24.

  21

  You go home with the hope that you will spend time with Henry again. It’s best not to rock the boat by doing anything rash. Instead, you need to be patient, just for another month or so.

  When you enter your apartment, you see the toy sitting sadly on the table. You forgot to take it with you when you saw Alex! It can’t stay here for another month or more; it’s just too sad to look at. You resolve to drive around to Alex’s house and give it to Henry before they head off to the airport.

  Go to 18.

  22

  You stomp your way home, your mood thunderous. By the time you storm into your apartment building, you are ready to strike someone. You stand by the elevator impatiently, trying to decide what to do next. You could go back upstairs and drown your sorrows with a bottle of scotch. Or you could go down to the parking garage, get in your car, drive to Alex’s house, and yell and scream until you’re allowed to see Henry again.

  If you go up, go to 23.

  If you go down, go to 17.

  23

  You go up to your apartment after telling Alex exactly what’s on your mind. You pour yourself a scotch and knock it back with seasoned haste. You are pouring yourself another when the tears come. The sobbing racks your body until you can’t stand up any more. You sit on the kitchen floor, back against the faded brown cabinets, and cry your heart out.

  When eventually
you stop, your anger has dissipated but a gaping hole is left in your chest. You stand up and see the toy sitting sadly on the table. You forgot to take it with you when you saw Alex! It can’t stay here for another month or more; it’s just too sad to look at. You resolve to drive around to Alex’s house and give it to Henry before they head off to the airport.

  Go to 18.

  24

  You make it to the parking garage and, with difficulty, make it to the crummy car that is decidedly not a BMW. You get behind the wheel and try to find your keys, but you feel like you’re somewhere else. It’s like you’re floating above your car, looking down on your ashen face through the windshield. You don’t look at all well. Oh crap, you’ve blacked out again.

  By the time you wake up, you are way behind schedule.

  Go to 19.

  25

  It doesn’t matter where you’re going because your car is now broken down at the side of the road, a cloud of steam billowing from under the hood.

  As vehicles whiz by you on the highway, you add “shitty, unreliable car” to the list of injustices heaped upon you by your ex-spouse. Good thing you spent that extra cash on roadside assistance—you’ve used it three times this month alone.

  After a long wait the breakdown guy arrives in his tow truck. He already knows you pretty well. He disappears under the hood and starts tinkering away.

  While you wait, you take out the little piece of paper and stare at those two words again.

  “YOUR CHOICE.”

  Well, last night your choice was to end it all, and yet here you still are. Still alive. You could still do it right now. You could easily step out into traffic and it would all be over in a heartbeat.

  But what would be the cost? There might be a huge pileup. Dozens could die along with you.